On Dec. 13, 1973, 19-year-old Robert Mallory made a horrifying mistake.

Mallory and two others were convicted of killing Milwaukee police officer Ronald Reagan on that day almost 35 years ago.

Since then — when Richard Nixon was in the midst of the Watergate scandal and most current University of Wisconsin undergraduates were not even a slight consideration in their parents’ heads — Mallory has sat behind bars.

And his odds at parole: slim to none.

That deadly mistake in 1973 means the now-54-year-old Mallory will likely spend the rest of his life without enjoying any of the freedoms of everyday life.

While Reagan’s family may forever find it impossible to forgive Mallory of his crime, he continues to seek some way to move on and make some sort of positive contribution to society.

For 35 years, Mallory has been in and out of several programs to help him grasp the impact his crime has had — an impact that spreads from Reagan’s loved ones to the police officers he worked with to the city of Milwaukee as a whole and back to Mallory’s very own family.

During his time behind bars, Mallory spends time studying law. On instances, he has provided legal advice to other inmates and has even represented himself.

With a strong ambition to change his inner self for the better, Mallory enrolled in the Restorative Justice program held at Columbia Correctional Institution, about 35 miles north of Madison.

After graduating from the three-month program, Mallory and 19 of his fellow inmates sat in a brightly lit room at the prison, a different image than the stereotypical ones seen on shows like “Prison Break.”

On one side sat people from the outside — members of the prison staff, participants in the program, a state legislator, leaders of other churches and a handful of invited guests. In the back sat some children’s toys next to a Sesame Street mural, resting there so children are not subjected to the horror of seeing a parent behind bars.

With smiles from ear to ear, each one of them, donned in a dark green jump suit, accepted their diplomas bound in a dark red, leather case, clutched them, sat down and simply gazed at them.

While the graduation ceremony provided just a brief respite from sitting in jail cells for their crimes, Mallory and his friends pledged to take what they learned and spread it.

All 20 feel they’ve accomplished something — from the inside.

The triangle approach

Restorative Justice is a three-month program that takes a triangle approach, identifying how victims’ crimes affect themselves, their victims and their community.

Rev. Jerry Hancock of Madison’s First Congregational United Church of Christ leads the Prison Ministry Project, which sponsors and conducts Restorative Justice at CCI. Funding for the program comes from private donations, including churches of many denominations.

For the offenders of crime themselves, Hancock said they gain a better understanding how the process works behind-the-scenes.

“Judges talk about how the criminal justice system works from their perspective,” Hancock said. “This gives them a better understanding of how the criminal justice system works.”

Perhaps most importantly, though, victims of crimes participate in the program to give the inmates a valuable look at how their crimes have spread a ripple effect throughout many people.

For 20 men who between them have been sentenced to over 800 years in prison, the difficulty can be how to affect the community while having little exposure to the outside world. Only 10 percent of inmates, Hancock said, receive regular visits from guests.

“We ask, ‘How can you be about repairing the harm you’ve done in the community you’re in?'” Hancock said. “You have to repair the harm to the community in the community you’re in. How can you live a life of integrity, passion and service while behind bars? It requires changes in attitude.”

During the sessions, the men have open talking and listening sessions and pick up meditation skills and other techniques for thinking about their lives.

One of the most integral keys to success, Hancock said, is for the outside world to hear stories from those in prison.

The popularity of the program is blossoming. During the most recent program, 57 inmates signed up for the 20 spots.

Rep. Mark Pocan, D-Madison, attended the graduation ceremony at CCJ last month. He said Restorative Justice is one of the best programs in the prison system.

“For them to make the connection and talk and have an awareness of what they did in the biggest picture, I think makes it a valuable program for the inmates,” he said.

While the program is currently privately funded, Pocan did not rule out the possibility the state might look at funding it down the road.

“I think it’s something we should be looking at,” he said. “If it has an impact, we’ll have to look at it very closely in a very comprehensive way.”

Ripples spread

Part of what makes the Restorative Justice program at CCI effective is the victims. While it was the crimes committed against the victims that landed the men in prison to begin with, the telling of each victim’s story often transforms the inmates for the better during the three-month process.

Tanya was one such victim. Back in 1999, she was making what she thought was a routine transaction at a drive-up ATM machine. It turned out to be anything but.

As she began to withdraw cash, two teenagers came up to her in her car and forced her to take money from the machine. They pistol-whipped her in the process, leaving her both physically and emotionally scarred.

What resulted from Tanya’s unfortunate situation is what is referred to in the Restorative Justice program as the “ripple effect.” While Tanya was affected directly by what had happened that day, the lasting impact reached far beyond just her; it impacted her friends and family as well.

“The so-called justice system spent so much time talking about offenders,” Tanya said to the group of graduates, retelling her story. “I felt I had no voice.”

Restorative Justice, she said, became her voice.

Through the program, Tanya was able to move past what happened nine years ago and use her experiences as a teaching device for the 20 men in the program.

“In a way, they represent my offender, and I represent their victims,” she said. “Maybe that awful day in 1999 wasn’t for nothing.”

Tanya wasn’t the only graduation speaker who had seen the ripple effect caused by crime. Barbara McKinney of the Madison Urban Ministry saw her son fall victim to violence as well.

Before she spoke, McKinney asked that those in the room take part in a moment of silence to reflect on what that day meant.

All the inmates fell silent, many of them closing their eyes and bowing their heads.

McKinney’s words were those of hope and optimism for the future. She chose not to dwell on the facts of the past and of her late son, who would have been 43 were he still alive. Instead, she offered the graduates words of encouragement as they took what they had learned over the past three months and began their new lives — even if those lives are still solely behind bars.

“My challenge to you today is to hold onto the images you created in the circle of safety,” McKinney said. “You can create a permanent place in here, the mind,” she said, pointing to her head, “and in here, the heart.”

“Hope is magical. … From this day forward, I challenge you to live and speak hope,” she added.

Tanya, too, offered a message of positive outlook on the men who had found new meaning in their lives.

Instead of being armed with dangerous weapons, Tanya said, “they will be armed with something else: choices.”

An unusual graduation day

Following the words of McKinney, each inmate was recognized individually, one by one, as they were handed their diplomas. Clearly, the occasion meant a lot to each of them.

“Some of these guys have never graduated from anything,” Hancock said.

When the names of the 20 men were called, they were each given the chance to say a few words to their fellow classmates and those on the other side of the room. Some chose not to say anything; others offered up speeches that flowed like words from a poet, not one from an inmate.

“You only have one life to live,” offered Charles Clark, a father of five daughters and one son. “Some people think life is a joke. We really need to enjoy it while we’re here.”

Dante Cottingham, one of three inmates serving a life sentence, was nominated as the class valedictorian by his peers. His words painted a picture of hope.

“Together, we began painting a rich portrait. Together, we began painting a masterpiece within our minds,” he said. “The great thing about an endless supply of canvases is there’s always another chance for expression. You gotta love that.”

Others, such as James Hill, used their time at the podium to offer an apology.

“I am deeply sorry for the crimes I caused,” Hill said, acknowledging he now understood what the ripple effect truly was. “We are trying to repair the harm, and I thank you for not giving up on us now.”

But one of the most moving moments of the graduation came when Joseph Holland, one of the veteran inmates, sang a song he wrote titled “Grandma’s Hands.” While not overly melodic or operatic, the message of the song was heard loud and clear: Holland was trying to live his life more like his grandmother, whose gentle hands were always there for him as a child.

“I need to find a new grandmother,” Holland said afterwards, mentioning that his beloved grandmother had passed away.

Cake and cookies followed in a reception to honor the graduates. While the treats were a welcome change from prison food for the men, the interaction with people from the outside meant even more.

Guests and prisoners mingled together, with offers of congratulations filling the room, greeted by an equally warm response.

“Thank you for coming,” one man replied. “It means a lot to us.”

The graduates were thankful; the look in their eyes said so. While the diploma they held in their hands were nothing more than a sheet of paper in a leather cover, the meaning of what it brought them was something only they knew.

They had spent the past three months learning how to live their lives with more meaning. For some, like Cottingham and Mallory, they will never travel beyond the barbed wire fences of the Columbia Correctional Institution again. Others, like Gary Campbell, who has served half of his 10-year sentence and plans to open his own business upon his release, will get to carry the message with them outside the prison walls.

But for each of the 20 men that graduated from the program, a mission of Restorative Justice had been accomplished.

“Our minds now contain a masterpiece,” Cottingham said. “Now we must use it.”